Montana Refuge. Alice Sharpe

her to leave you alone.”

      “Why? Do you think I can’t handle reality?”

      Julie cleared her throat. “Excuse me,” she said, “but I’m sitting right here. Tyler didn’t want to trouble you, Rose. It’s as simple as that. I’ll be gone tomorrow.”

      “So soon?”

      Julie set down her fork. “Yes. I just came to talk to Tyler. I didn’t know you guys were heading out with the herd. My timing sucks.”

      The back door opened and one of the older wranglers walked in carrying a battered-looking thermos.

      “Come on in, Andy,” Rose said. “You looking for some coffee?”

      “You girls make the best brew on the ranch.”

      “And we always make extra for you,” Heidi said, taking his thermos and filling it from the urn on the counter. Andy’s tanned, lined face broke into a grin as he thanked them, then he turned around and saw Julie and the smile broadened.

      “Well, missy,” he said. “Nice to see you and that’s a fact.” He tipped his dusty hat and left the house. His arrival had dispelled some of the building tension—his departure brought it all back.

      Rose Hunt rested her hands on her slim hips, a dishcloth dangling by her leg, her gaze directed at Tyler. “Have you two talked?”

      “No.”

      The door behind Tyler that led to the dining room opened and John Smyth came in, holding a tray covered with dirty dishes. He paused when he saw them all standing there. Nodding at his burden, he said, “I thought I could lend a hand.” He smiled at Rose, who looked away, then ambled over to the sink, set the tray down on the drain board and addressed the two women at the sink.

      “Step aside, ladies. I’ll wash if you two will dry.”

      Heidi and Melanie both laughed as Smyth plunged his hands into the dishwater.

      Rose shook her head. “That isn’t necessary, Mr. Smyth. You are a guest here.”

      “I like to pull my weight.” He tossed the words over his shoulder.

      Her lips thinned as she stared at his back. “I’m going to bed,” she announced.

      Tyler tried not to gape, but since when did Rose Hunt retire right after dinner when there were guests to be entertained and attended to? “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you ill?”

      “I may be coming down with a bug. My head hurts. And my back. I shouldn’t have lifted that tray after a day spent stocking the chuck wagon. I’m not as young as I used to be. Let the kids finish the dinner chores—you two talk for God’s sake. Honestly, acting like children.” She slapped the cloth on the drain board for punctuation.

      “I don’t have time for talking,” Tyler protested. “There are a million things to do before morning—”

      Rose cut him off with a steely stare she’d been trotting out for years every time he did or said something she found stupid. She slid a glance at John Smyth’s back, then glared at Tyler. It was clear she wanted to say something else but wouldn’t in front of a guest.

      Tyler glanced at Julie as Rose left the room. Julie pushed her plate away as though waiting for him to say something.

      Not in that kitchen. Not with three other people washing dishes without making a sound so they could eavesdrop. No way.

      “Come on,” he told Julie, crossing to the door and holding it open. “Let’s take a walk.”